Then with manie a prettie othe,
Yea and nay, and faith and trothe;
Such as seelie* shepperdes use
When they will not love abuse;

Love, that had bene long deluded,
Was with kisses sweete concluded;
And Phillida with garlands gaye
Was made the lady of the Maye.

[This little pastoral song was sung before Queen Elizabeth at Elvetham in Hampshire-as she opened the casement of her gallery window in the morning, by "three excellent musitians, disguised in auncient country attire." See Percy's Reliques, vol. 3, p. 105, whose version I have followed in preference to that given in England's Helicon, which is here subjoined.

In the merry month of May,
In a morne by break of day,
Forth I walk'd by the wood-side,
When as May was in his pride:
There I espied all alone,
Phillida and Corydon.

Much a doo there was, God wot,
He would love and she would not.
She said never man was true,
He said, none was false to you,

He said he had lou'd her long,

She said, Love should have no wrong.

Coridon would kiss her then,

She said, maides must kiss no men,

Till they did for good and all :

Then she made the shepherd call

All the heavens to witnesse truth:

Neuer lou'd a truer youth.

Thus with many a pretty oath,
Yea and nay, and faith and troath,

* Silly.

Such as silly shepheards use
When they will not Love abuse.

Loue which had beene long deluded,

Was with kisses sweet concluded.

And Phillida with garlands gay,

Was made the lady of the May.-N. BRETON.]
FINIS.

TIME BREEDETH CHANGE.

ROBERT GREENE.

Born about 1560-Died 1592.

In time we see the silver drops
The craggy stones make soft;
The slowest snail in time we see
Doth creep and climb aloft.

With feeble puffs the tallest pine
In tract of time doth fall;
The hardest heart in time doth yield
To Venus' luring call.

Where chilling frost alate did nip,
There flasheth now a fire;

Where deep disdain bred noisome hate,
There kindleth now desire.

Time causeth hope to have his hap:
What care in time not eas'd?
In time I loath'd that now I love

In both content and pleased.

[There is great beauty about the smaller poems of Greene.

His

poetical works were reprinted lately under the careful superinten

dence of Mr. Dyce.]

SONG.

Take, oh take those lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn ;
And those eyes the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn :
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain.

Hide, oh hide those hills of snow,

Which thy frozen bosom bears,
On whose tops the pinks that grow,
Are of those that April wears :
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee.

[The first stanza of this exquisite little song, is quoted by Shakpeare, in "Measure for Measure." But both the stanzas are found in one of Beaumont and Fletcher's plays, The Bloody Brother, or Rollo Duke of Normandy, Act v. scene 2. It has been attributed to Shakspeare, but without any apparent foundation. Mr. Weber thinks the first stanza Shakspeare's, the last Fletcher's. George Ellis has printed the whole as the composition of Beaumont and Fletcher ! ]

SONG IN LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

SHAKSPEARE.

Born 1564-Died 1616.

When daisies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue,

Do paint the meadows with delight,

The cuckoo then on every tree,

Mocks married men, for thus sings he,
Cuckoo ;

Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

When shepherd's pipe on oaten straws,
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,

Mocks married men, for thus sings he,
Cuckoo ;

Cuckoo, cuckoo ;-O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

[For "Cuckoo-buds," in the third line, Dr. Farmer proposed as the true reading, "cowslip buds."]

SONG IN LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

SHAKSPEARE.

When icicles hang by the wall,

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,

To-who;

Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.*

When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,

And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-who;

Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

SONG IN THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

SHAKSPEARE.

Who is Silvia? what is she,

That all our swains commend her?

Holy, fair, and wise is she:

The heavens such grace did lend her,

That she might admired be.

Is she kind, as she is fair?
For beauty lives with kindness:
Love doth to her eyes repair,

To help him of his blindness;
And, being help'd, inhabits there.

Skim the pot, an expression common in Ireland.